Need
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: Third in the Arizona series, following after 'One' and 'Next.' Vic and Walt have a private conversation about Ed Gorski, and one thing leads to another. Season 3 AU, Walt/Vic.


_Hi all! Here is something from me. Sorry it's been a while, I was working a ton and then doing a bit of traveling so haven't had as much writing time as I would like. There should be more fic coming soon, including the lonnnnnng-awaited conclusion to 'The Heart of the Matter.' Thanks for all the patience and kind messages!_

 _This story is the third in my aptly named 'Arizona' series, which began with 'One' and continued in 'Next.' This won't make much sense if you haven't read those already! Not sure how much interest is out there for it, but this AU has taken over my mind a bit and thus there will be at least one more installment after this rather lengthy one. Here we get a dose of Vic's perspective on the situation, all set within the timeframe of 'In the Pines.'_

 _Bit of mature content here, possibly pushing the boundaries of 'T.' :)_

 _Hope you like!_

 **Need**

" _Right, there is that. Okay. Let me know if you need me."_

" _I won't need you."_

There were times, during the awkward two weeks following their tryst in Arizona, where Vic realized it was possible that she would never have the chance to kiss Walt Longmire again. The idea terrified her, and maybe that stab of fear was what finally clued her in that this was more than just attraction, not only a wham-bam get it out of your system one night stand scenario.

Alone at the bar in the Red Pony on a dirt slow weeknight, she's thinking about it. Again. Pulling at the edge of the label on her beer bottle, Vic narrows her eyes at the napkin covered in scribbles and the number '32.' Smaller digits line the bottom right corner, three repetitions of '116' to remind her of the three times she and Walt had… done what they had done together, in a seedy motel room with that number. The count was an anatomical technicality, since the reality of that night was more of a continuous erotic blur.

She wanted to tell herself that they had made love, because that was what it felt like and that was what she wanted it to be— not only as a matter of justification, not simply so that she could say that it had been more than a meaningless, opportunistic fuck session. With Walt she was sure it could never be that. Vic knew that she should be ashamed in the face of her own infidelity, but in the end the only guilt she could bring herself to feel was down to the fact that she felt hardly any guilt at all.

How could something that had felt so right, so totally natural, be wrong? After the initial hesitation on Walt's part, things had gone off-the-charts intense so quickly that Vic knew he had been wanting her just as much as she'd longed for him. He'd seemed to know instinctively what she needed; where she liked to be touched, how fast and hard she wanted him to do it, even how to hold her and kiss her in the aftermath of that passionate explosion.

That first time had been so frantic with their need to get as close as possible, skin so hot and so incredibly hungry, there hadn't been time for gentleness. And somehow he had just known. Walt seemed to be programmed with the secret knowledge of how Vic liked to be fucked the same way he had memorized what she ordered on her sandwiches or how many sugars she preferred in her coffee— the completeness of their physical harmony took her breath away.

Still, she couldn't help but sink into her worries, even as she failed to drown her sorrows in the less-than-half a beer she'd consumed. Had she taken advantage of Walt, forced him to cross a line that he hadn't wanted to? His behavior since had been distant, especially after her misguided attempt to engage with him at that crime scene last week. It wasn't like she had planned it, but the moment she'd felt his hands on her body all the rational thoughts had flown out of her head and left her with nothing but abstract memories of heated connectedness.

Walt had been all business when he asked her about '32,' and she couldn't say anything. It wasn't just the shock of knowing that Gorski had been following them, or the dread in the pit of her stomach when she thought about Sean confronting Walt about the photos… in that moment she had been unable to reconcile those immoral actions from her past against what she'd done with Walt. Yes, Walt already knew that there had been something between her and Ed. But Vic couldn't tell him that the number '32' took her back to another time, another illicit rendezvous, because she didn't have the words to explain to him that it was nothing like what had happened in Arizona.

In that moment Vic couldn't think of a way to make Walt understand that those depraved romps with Gorski had nothing in common with the way she had given herself to him, honestly and completely. They'd promised to keep their distance, a silent vow she had already come close to breaking on the day they found Ben Mallory's body. She was afraid that if she told him, he would think just that— that he was nothing more than one in a long line of conquests, and what could she possibly be worth in his eyes after that?

So she'd stayed quiet. Covered it up, bottled it in. At the hospital, Walt's evident desire to distance himself made Vic feel like she was about three inches tall, even though she knew he thought it was the right thing to push her toward better communication with her husband.

" _I won't need you."_

They were possibly some of the most hurtful words Walt could have chosen, and she wondered whether maybe he knew that. The dismissal brought everything to the surface and made her emotions feel raw, and there was no way she was going to go home and face a likely argument with Sean under such circumstances. That was how she had ended up here at the bar.

Exhaling deeply, Vic knew that she would have to tell Walt that '32' meant without a doubt that Ed Gorski sent the photos. She had no strength left to hide anything from him, and after all that had happened having Ed on the scene could be a threat to Walt's safety as well. That was something she couldn't contemplate, the idea that Walt could be hurt or killed as a result of her own wounded pride or fears of what he might think of her. At the very least, she hoped to have the conversation in private… it was late enough that she should be able to catch him at home, assuming there hadn't been any major breaks in the current case.

As unappealing as the idea of cornering Walt in his own personal space might be, Vic knew it was what she needed to do. Swallowing down her trepidation along with one more swig of lukewarm beer, she crumpled up the scribble-littered bar napkin and chucked it in the trashcan as she strode through the Red Pony's swinging doors and into the night.

 **x**

The Bronco was parked in what Vic assumed to be its usual spot and there was a warm light glowing from within the cabin, which she took to be an encouraging sign. She tried to be as quiet as possible while exiting the vehicle and making her way to the front door, squashing down the wild fear that Walt would find some way to evade her.

She had to use supreme effort to keep her knocks firm and measured. Walt answered on the second round, and the way he tiredly rubbed one side of his face made her want to run her hands over every inch of skin she'd so recently discovered and subsequently lost. It was obvious he had been sleeping, but from his mostly-dressed state, she would guess badly.

Walt's voice was rough from disuse, or maybe exhaustion. "Vic? What are you doing here? It's late."

Looking at her feet for a moment, which only drew her attention a short distance away to his bare ones, she swallowed. "Sorry. Need to talk about some things, if you're up to it."

There was an implied challenge in her statement which she hadn't intended, but Walt definitely picked up on. He pinned her with a searching look. "Yep. Come on in."

As she politely removed her boots and walked past him, Vic suspected that Walt's closely hovering presence was his way of answering the challenge, of not backing down. Either that, or she was simply unable to ignore her own body's reaction to the unreachable warmth suggested by his tall frame.

Vic deemed it wise to wait for his cue concerning what she should do next. Walt walked over to the sofa, casually tossing the recently-used blanket over the back and flopping into a seated position at one end. The light was low, fire dimly crackling in the nearby grate.

"Have a seat."

She did, hugging the opposite arm of the couch, leaving a cushion and a half's distance between them.

After a protracted moment of silence, Walt cleared his throat and spoke again. "Thought I told you to head home."

Eyes rolling involuntarily, she crossed her right leg over her left. "Yeah? Last I checked it wasn't your job to order me around after standing me down from duty."

Walt was very still, eyes fixed on the gently dancing remainders of flame. Vic attempted to look anywhere but at him, her gaze inadvertently drawn to a weathered volume sitting on the coffee table with what looked like a faded duplicate from a long-forgotten traffic citation serving as a bookmark two-thirds of the way through. She picked it up, turning it in her hands and examining the spine. Her eyebrows shot up, uncooperative heart skipping a beat.

" _Lady Chatterly_ _'_ _s Lover_ , huh? Kinda doubt this is what Oprah's fucking book club is reading right now."

Exhaling heavily, Walt reached across and took the battered tome from her hands. "I— it was Martha's. I realized I'd never read it, so…"

Oh, that made it a _million_ times better.

"Vic, look. I can't—"

It rang in her ears again, unprompted.

" _I won't need you."_

Defenses swiftly fortified, she cut him off at the pass. "That isn't what I came here to talk about."

He seemed surprised. "Really?" The book was casually propped on his knee, and she watched his fingers clench and relax along the spine. "If not… that, then what?"

Twisting her hands, she sighed. "Those pictures. Gorski took them."

The look he gave her in response was heavy, and whether he intended it or not she could feel the weight of judgment behind it. "Why are you suddenly so sure?"

"Because of what he wrote on the back."

Leaning into the cushions, Walt raised an eyebrow. "I'm still listening."

Of course he wasn't going to let her off easy, being the keen investigator that he was. She watched his brows knit as she filled in the blanks about her relationship with Gorski, apartment 32, and how she'd finally ended it.

Chewing his bottom lip, he processed. Vic could see his uncertainty, questions he wasn't willing or able to ask, maybe even a twinge of anger— at her, at Gorski, or at the situation in general she couldn't be sure. Eventually that unstoppable brain of his careened around the bend to exactly where she'd hoped it wouldn't go.

"What does Sean have to say about all this?"

"I haven't been home." She crossed her arms defensively.

Walt frowned. "You think avoiding him will make things easier?"

"Kind of hard to avoid somebody who could care less whether or not you come home at night."

"He's worried about you, Vic. He wouldn't have come to see me if he didn't care."

"Yeah, well?" She shifted her body to face toward Walt, one leg tucked beneath her on the sofa. "I don't need Sean to protect me. You obviously don't think I need protecting either, after being so eager to get rid of me this afternoon."

It was a petty argument, a cheap shot, and they both knew it. This shouldn't be about them, but all it took was one look and it was still the only thing she could think of.

Eyes flashing smoky blue in the firelight, he shot back. "That's not fair. I told you to go because I thought you needed the break."

"More like you wanted to save face with Sean. Show him you weren't making unreasonable demands on my time. It's got nothing to do with me, just whatever pissing contest you're having with my husband."

That apparently struck a nerve, as Walt straightened in his seat, dropping the book back onto the coffee table with a sharp thud. "Nothing to do with you?" His anger was palpable, eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring as he drew a long breath. "It's got everything to do with you, Vic."

Hands clenching at his denim-covered thighs, he continued in a low voice that was rough in all the right places and really shouldn't have been such a turn-on under the circumstances. "Do you think this is easy for me? That I don't remember what you felt like in my arms every damn time I look at you?"

Hearing Walt curse was a rarity, and as she watched his chest rise and fall Vic was momentarily lost in imaginings of all the far more pleasurable things she could do to rip those forbidden words from his throat. Lips parted, she clasped her hands in her lap. "Then why do you keep pushing me away?"

"You're married to someone else, and as a man I have to respect that— even if you won't."

It was noble, so very like him, but to her ears in that moment it also sounded self-righteous as hell.

"So that's it? You want to make all of this my fault? Fine."

For a moment Walt looked abashed, clearly struggling with his own share of the responsibility. His defenses were showing signs of weakness, and she couldn't resist the urge to exploit them.

"But if you felt even half of what I did in Arizona, it wouldn't matter."

Vic didn't know why she was baiting him. The statement was a provocation, plain and simple, and maybe she just wanted him to react instead of giving her the cold shoulder he'd been serving up for the past two weeks. As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. The accusation was baseless, the tax on his emotions far outside of the parameters they had wordlessly set when they were together that night. But if a reaction was what she was hoping for, she was about to get it.

"You want to know how I feel, _what_ I feel?"

With a lightning fast motion, Walt's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her across the divide that lay between them. Attempting to steady her limbs she overbalanced, falling into Walt's lap with a sharp gasp, one of her knees bracing up between both of his. This appeared to be his precise intention, as his grip tightened to pull her in harder as his other hand slid to the back of her neck and dragged her down. Eyes widening, Vic let out a small moan as Walt breathed against her face.

"I think about you constantly, about what we did. Sometimes it's all I _can_ think of."

His fingers squeezed into the tender flesh of her lower forearm and Vic shuddered, basking in the pressure and suddenness of skin on skin contact.

"It scares me sometimes how badly I want you, how I need you in so many ways… I've been trying to control it ever since that night but I don't know if I can."

" _I won't need you."_

" _I need you in so many ways…"_

It meant everything, hearing him say those words and knowing that she wasn't the only one who was ready to lose her grip. Vic pushed her face closer, just a fraction of an inch, only enough for their lips to brush when she spoke. The deep ache inside was nearly unbearable. "So maybe you should stop trying."

In response he kissed her, a forceful maneuver which initially lacked any form of tenderness. Vic was stunned, shaken, propping her free hand on the back of the couch beside Walt's head as he forced her even nearer. Fingers digging into her scalp as they slid upward, he sucked on her bottom lip demanding entry to the rest of her mouth. Once granted access, Walt's tongue proceeded to catalog and conquer as his hand released its claw-like grasp on her wrist and wrapped tightly around her waist.

Vic could taste Walt's anger and frustration as she surrendered to his uncompromising embrace, those slow burning emotions tempered by confusion as she squirmed further into his lap and rearranged their legs so that she was straddled over him with their hips aligned in a dangerously suggestive configuration. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other sliding into his hair with her thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw just beneath his ear.

Their lips broke apart for a fleeting moment and Walt released a gruff "Oh," eyes unfocused. His mouth captured hers again, but he seemed to have moved past the ire and onto a sensual fury of a different kind. His head tilted to the side, deepening the kiss and winding both his arms around Vic's back so that their bodies were molded airtight. Vic was overwhelmed by the pure strength and heat of him, and the way he could echo every single thought and wish she kept hidden inside with the simple twist of his tongue against her own.

One of Vic's hands fell to Walt's chest as he shifted beneath her, and she could feel his heart hammering under her palm in sync with her own racing pulse. God the feel of him all around her was intoxicating; tastes, smells, recollections of his touch all over her body. Walt suddenly seemed eager to create some new memories, as his hand slid up the back of her grayish-green cotton shirt. Walt's fingers stroking up her spine made Vic realize how desperately every inch of her skin had been starving for him, her hips pushing against his of their own accord.

Both of them groaned, mouths still touching, overtaken by a jolt of wild arousal as their groins connected with tantalizing friction. Vic ground down a little harder, wanting to feel Walt swelling against her. She wanted everything, head spinning crazy with desire as she none-too-gently yanked the front of his shirt completely open.

It was out of control, and Vic emitted a surprised yelp as Walt heaved her sideways and pushed her down onto the sofa without breaking the connection of their lower bodies. He rubbed himself against her with obvious intent, growling "Vic," against her lips and running one hand up her side within the shirt. His fingers traced over the bottom edge of her bra, and she whimpered in response.

Vic wrapped her legs around Walt as he continued to undulate against her. He dipped his head and breathed into the hollow above the exposed edge of her collarbone, allowing his lips to slide up the line of her neck. Vic's hands dived into Walt's open shirt front, winding around to stroke over his broad back. Walt shivered as her fingers clutched and encouraged, and Vic released another moan at the feeling of his teeth scraping and nipping at the sensitive patch of skin just below her ear.

 _Fuck_ … it felt so fucking good, _he_ felt so good, and Vic knew neither of them had the willpower to stop this now that it had started. Walt was still teasing her neck, biting and licking, lightly sucking and mouthing at that magical spot. A tiny voice far, far in the back of Vic's mind questioned whether he might leave a mark, if maybe she even wanted him to. The more immediate and heavily stimulated portions of her mind were occupied with the way Walt's big, warm hand was kneading one of her breasts through her bra while both of her own hands drifted down to grip his ass through his jeans and direct him right where she needed him.

Rocking against each other with a total absence of inhibition, their eyes locked. Emotion crackled between them; desire, fear, uncertainty, passion, even the remnants of anger from their forgotten argument. Walt bent to kiss her, slow and deep. Vic fell into the contact, listening to Walt's breath huffing out from his nose and the small creaking noises emanating from the material of the leather sofa underneath them. Breaking the kiss Walt drew his head back, looking down at her like he wanted to say something.

She moved one of her hands back up his body, tracing her fingers gently over his stubbled cheek. "Walt," she breathed, "I need you, too." Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears, a strangely discordant blend of lust and anxiousness.

Their bodies were still pressed tight, and Walt flexed his hips involuntarily as Vic's thighs squeezed around them. His voice was deep, ragged, sexier than ever before. "This— we shouldn't, Vic. This is wrong, it's all wrong—"

He trailed off as she arched into him, using her body as a tempting reminder of exactly how right it could be. His eyes were shut, one elbow propped next to her head on the couch cushion. He was retreating into himself, but she wasn't willing to let him drift away from her, not now.

"Make love to me."

It was a whisper, but his eyes snapped open as if she had screamed it from across the room. Walt's expression softened, face so close that they were sucking in each other's air. In lieu of a verbal response he ran his fingers over her cheek and leaned in, kissing her forehead, the arch of her eyebrow, the bridge of her nose, and finally her lips, soft as a feather. She could feel a hard tension in his body, contrasting with the tender touch of his mouth on hers.

Winding her arms around his neck, Vic put everything into her response. All the feelings she'd been squashing down, the secret longings, the pit of guilt and the smoldering torch flame that was always right there beside it. Walt gave it right back to her, sinking deeper, his fingers slowly pushing the thin cotton of her shirt up her torso to bare more of her skin to the flickering firelight. He allowed her to divest him of his shirt completely, shrugging out of the garment and letting it fall to the floor. Vic raked her eyes over Walt as he loomed above her, pinning her with an intense gaze.

Never breaking eye contact, he tugged at the hem of her slightly rumpled long sleeved t-shirt until she raised her arms and lifted up off the sofa so that he could remove it. The leather was warm and soft beneath her, Walt closing the circle of heat as he ran his hands over her shoulders and down, tracing his fingers over the sensitive skin just above the edge of her bra. He looked fascinated, transfixed, and she was willing to let him take his time at least for a little while if it meant he would keep looking at her and touching her like that.

Walt bent down, briefly kissing her while pulling her hair loose from its ponytail. His lips then trailed down her neck to explore her throat and the area around her collarbones, eventually reaching the valley between her breasts. He brushed his fingers over the small bow above the front closure of her bra reverentially, and Vic absently realized it was the first time he had seen her exactly like this— she hadn't been wearing a bra when this happened in Arizona.

Vic ran her hands up Walt's forearms and caressed along his biceps and the solid shoulders, feeling him shiver slightly at her actions. She relished the opportunity to touch and see those powerful limbs, which were almost always hidden beneath the heavy material of the shirts he favored. Their jean-clad legs tangled together, and Vic inhaled sharply as Walt's fingers carefully unclasped her bra and freed her breasts to his view. She slinked her arms free of the cotton and lace contraption, causing a groan from Walt when her chest pressed ever so lightly against his.

She wanted nothing more than to pull more of those sounds from him, hear him moan and make him shake with the force of sweet release. To convey this Vic kissed him, sliding her hands down his ribcage and his sturdy abdomen until they reached the top of his jeans. The kiss became frenzied as his hips pushed toward her questing fingers in invitation.

He must have removed his belt along with his hat and boots when he stretched out to relax after coming home, as all that stood in her way was the row of buttons on his 501s. Walt's hands were on her breasts, molding and stroking, messing with Vic's concentration as she took a deep breath and worked the first button out of the hole. It was easier after that, just a matter of pulling the denim flap taut and guiding each subsequent metal circle through its respective opening. There was something so fucking sexy about those old-school jeans, and Vic had no qualms about directing her gaze downward to take in the the sight of Walt's overtaxed navy blue boxer shorts peeking out from the gaping fly.

Sliding a hand between the two layers of fabric, Vic explored the form and shape of him through the boxers. The unexpected sensation of Walt's mouth sealing itself over one super sensitive nipple caused her to give his hard length an involuntary squeeze. His body jerked against her, a deep moan vibrating through her breast as he continued his attentions. Soon Walt was kneeling up between her legs, flicking his thumbs over both pebbled nipples before dragging his hands down her stomach to the fastenings of her jeans.

Breathing heavily, his hands shook as he dipped one set of fingers beneath her waistband. "God, I want—" Walt trailed off, unable to articulate the scope of his desire. As usual, Vic fully understood the gaps between his words.

"Please," she whispered in supplication, rolling her hips as she felt his longer fingers trace over the top edge of the panties she was wearing under her jeans. Readily compliant, Walt worked at the button and dove back in for another kiss, this one rough and full of undisguised purpose. It was happening and it was so exactly what she wanted and if Walt stroked his fingers any lower while he was busy finally getting her jeans open she thought she might come right then and there before they even achieved the full contact they were clearly both so desperate for.

His lips disengaged, one large hand sliding beneath her inside the loosened jeans. He gave her ass a firm squeeze and pulled her against him as he slid the material lower. The barely-covered erection he was sporting ground against the most sensitive part of Vic and she made a keening noise, swiftly reaching down to try and push all the remaining encumbrances out of the way to reveal him and see the evidence that he was as ready as she was. His lips were on her neck again, breath hot, causing every hair on her body to stand on end as she tried to detangle her legs from his so that she could use her feet to push the jeans and boxers off his hips.

Of course the universe would dictate that this was the perfect time for the telephone to ring. They both froze, and Walt looked down at her with frustrated indecision. She squirmed beneath him in response, chest heaving, lips parted and waiting. Wrapping both arms low around his waist, Vic attempted to pull Walt back down into the bubble that contained just the two of them.

"Don't answer it."

Walt made a displeased noise, leaning his forehead onto the couch cushion just above her shoulder as the ringing continued. "Ferg might need us. The case—"

She sank her teeth into his earlobe, pulling at it and then soothing the bite marks with her lips. Walt pushed against her, hard and eager, hips urgently fitting themselves further into the cradle of her thighs. Vic felt a thrill of victory along with the delicious tingles traveling up and down her spine. "It can wait. Let the machine get it."

At those words Walt tensed and lifted his upper body away from their embrace. Vic was left feeling cold and bereft as he scrambled backwards and attempted to reach a standing position while simultaneously pulling up his pants. His eyes met hers, with a look that could only be described as 'deer in the headlights.' He nearly tripped over the coffee table in his attempt to reach the phone on its fourth ring, but he was several seconds too late. The machine had already clicked on and begun to dispense its familiar looping message, in Martha Longmire's genial voice.

" _You've reached the Longmire residence."_

Walt poked fruitlessly at the buttons on the phone base, trying to halt the innocuously pleasant and entirely mood-killing stream of instructions as they issued from beyond the grave.

" _Sorry we're not here to take your call."_

He picked up the receiver, attempting to answer the call. "Hello? Shit…" Slamming the cordless handset onto the desk in frustration Walt bowed his head, muscles in his back shifting as he bent forward. The caller must have hung up, but the answering machine wasn't smart enough to figure that out.

" _Please leave a message."_

There was a still silence as the outdated answering mechanism finally beeped and shut itself off, abandoning the effort to record a non-existent message. For a few moments Vic lay prone on the sofa, all too aware of the fact that she was naked from the waist up with her jeans shimmied down past the curves of her hips. She covered her face with one forearm, because somehow not being able to see anything briefly made the situation more bearable. Walt was looking at her, she could feel it, but she couldn't bring herself to look back. He exhaled heavily, and Vic heard a few soft beeping noises as he checked the caller ID and proceeded to dial the phone.

Vic could hear Walt speaking to someone, presumably Ferg, in low mumbles as she rose from the sofa and righted her jeans and underwear. Her hair was loose and wild, but she wasn't about to go searching for the discarded elastic band she had arrived with. She hurriedly snatched her wrinkly long-sleeved t-shirt up from the floor, sliding her arms into it and noting that her boots were by the door where she'd left them.

Was she really about to run away from this, just because Martha's voice was still on Walt's answering machine? It's not like she hadn't known that from the dozens of times she'd called here… though it had been a while since she'd needed to. Wasn't it a bit hypocritical of her, not to mention short-sighted, realizing only now that maybe she wasn't the only one who was still a bit too married for this thing between them to be anything other than a catastrophically bad idea?

Lizzie's words echoed back at her, taunting.

" _You_ _'_ _re still in love with your dead wife!_ _"_

At the time she'd thought the other woman to be so far out of line that perhaps she'd just come totally unhinged, but now the shoe was on the other foot and Vic's thoughts were spinning too fast to process the rest of Lizzie's theory or allow for the idea that Walt could compartmentalize effectively enough to do these things with her if he were still pining away for Martha. Vic's emotions were all over the map and she didn't know what to think, only that she had to get away before he forced her to try.

The boots were on her feet and her hand on the doorknob before he caught up to her.

"Vic, wait."

She looked at him, really seeing him, from the pained but open expression on his face right down to the unbuttoned fly of his jeans and his weirdly attractive bare feet against the hardwood floor. Like she needed a reminder that he was attractive? Her entire body still throbbed with the awareness. Walt reached out, tentative, removing her hand from the doorknob and holding it in both of his own.

"Don't leave like this."

Biting her lip, Vic tried to ignore the floaty feeling even this most basic form of physical contact was causing in the pit of her stomach. "I think I need to."

His face hardened with determination, eyebrows scrunching. "We should talk about this. I… care about you."

A small laugh forced its way up from her throat. "Wow, Walt! The Corp just called. They'll be over later to drop off your Medal of Honor for that one."

Vic tried to pull her hand away, but Walt tightened his grip and tugged so that she fell against him. Her free hand grasped at his hip to steady herself, fingers greeted by a combination of bare skin and tantalizingly loosened denim. He stood firm, unmoving, drawing the hand that he was still holding against his chest and waiting for her to meet his gaze.

Oh. He had never, ever looked at her _that_ way before.

"I love you."

Vic's eyes widened, trying to encompass the enormity of that statement. Suddenly there was a massive lump in her throat, and she didn't know exactly why. Was it from the shattered anticipation of words she wasn't sure she would ever hear him say, or due to her abject fear of the consequences? Wasn't Walt's love what she had wanted so desperately all along? If so, why did those three little words fill her with such incredible dread?

These rapid thoughts were accompanied by a rushing noise in her ears, and for a few seconds Vic wondered if she'd imagined Walt's gruff, sincere declaration. She watched him swallow heavily like he had a lump in _his_ throat, too. His eyes were swimmingly blue and vulnerable, and she knew he was waiting for her to say _something_. Which was hard, because she could barely even manage to speak.

"Don't. Don't fucking do that." It was a whisper, and Vic hid her face the only way she could manage with him still holding on to her, by pressing her forehead against the center of his chest. The side effect being that she could actually feel the deep vibration of Walt's reply.

"Do what? Tell you the truth?"

She shook her head, taking one step back from him. "Don't confuse yourself into thinking you feel something because you need justification."

Releasing her abruptly, Walt placed both his hands on her face to make sure she was looking right at him. "I'm not confused. I was just—"

"Just what?" She watched him process, saw the doubts form and recede and change behind his eyes. "Feeling guilty about Martha because of me, or feeling guilty about me because of Martha? You can't do that, Walt."

He sighed deeply. "You say you want to know how I feel, but now you won't even listen to me. What the hell am I supposed to do, Vic?"

Walt finally released her, running one hand over the bottom half of his face as he often did when he became truly exasperated. Vic hugged herself, feeling the first of what she predicted would be many tears pricking at the edge of her eyelid. "I don't know… but I can't do this tonight."

"Okay. Forget I said anything."

And he didn't say another word, only frowned despondently at her for a few heavy seconds before breaking eye contact and moving over to open the door for her. Vic found herself paralyzed for several long moments, wondering if she was ruining the only chance she was ever going to get. Walt had finally opened up to her, and now she was the one running away.

 **x**

She'd parked her truck at a rarely-used trailhead and spent the rest of a fitful night crying, thinking, and sleeping in turns. In essence she was vacillating, on a roller coaster of good and bad, pleasure and pain, knowledge and doubt.

Good: Clearing the air about Gorski had been a weight off her shoulders, and Walt hadn't kicked her ass straight out of the cabin after learning the truth. Given, knowing the details seemed to bring Walt little joy, but the twinge of jealousy Vic thought she could see in him had been sweet on some admittedly twisted level.

Bad: She still hadn't seen Sean, and this latest encounter with Walt made Vic want to face her husband and his envelope of semi-incriminating photographs even less. Everything had gotten so complicated so quickly, she was having a hard time remembering that she was married at all.

Pleasure: Her frustrated body could attest to the fact that pleasure had been plentiful and so incredibly promising. Just thinking about Walt's hands grasping and stroking, his lips on her skin, caused echoing jolts of arousal all through her unsatisfied form. It made her think back to their night of passion in Arizona, and how the empty days in between had merely stoked the blaze that flared between them… God help her, but she wanted to let it burn no matter what stood in its path.

Pain: This was, maybe, where she'd been spending most of her time over the past few hours. There were so many sources of pain to be had, many of them of her own making. Vic wasn't sure what was worse— the pain of knowing that her marriage to Sean was crumbling and she didn't even want to put forth an effort to save it, or the torment of realizing that even after everything she and Walt had been through there were still no guarantees. Oh no; she was aware that she could still ruin absolutely everything, if she hadn't managed to do it already through avoidance and fear and knee-jerk reactions.

Knowledge: Vic had started falling in love with Walt maybe from the very first day they met, and shit was she ever in deep. Compounding matters was the simple (monumental, inconceivable) fact that he appeared to love her, too. The words were still bouncing through Vic's brain like ping-pong balls on crack, aggravating her nerve centers and making her want nothing more than to run back to Walt so she could grab hold of him and never, ever let go.

Doubt: Everything. Absolutely _everything._ Wiping one more stubborn tear away from her cheek, Vic straightened in the driver's seat and contemplated her next move. Right now she was doubting everything from her ability to breathe straight on through to what right she had to occupy even the smallest place in Walt's heart. She also doubted her own foresight in restocking the supply of toothpaste and deodorant in her go bag, but at least her success in that aspect was something she could control.

 **x**

The day was relentlessly long, and breaks in the case were few and not of the helpful variety. She had ignored no less than three calls and four text messages from her husband and Walt was doing the worst thing that Vic could have imagined— he was acting like absolutely nothing had changed.

"So you think Marshall killed Adam, and covered it up by calling it in?"

"Sometimes the most obvious solution is the right one."

Walt peered across at her, expression thoughtful. "But why did he attempt an emergency tracheotomy?"

She kept her attention fixed on his face, pointedly ignoring the open and perilously askew collar of his shirt. Her eyes might be in the right place, but the majority of her thoughts were still back at Walt's cabin, wishing she had stayed when he'd asked her to. Her reply was involuntary, and only on the surface was it related to Marshall Jeffords.

"Regret?"

If he heard it in her tone he didn't show it. They debated the points of the case and it was almost reassuring in a weird way, knowing that their work relationship could still be this comfortable.

That is, of course, until it wasn't.

"That kid's playing games with us." He was talking about Wolverine.

"Sounds familiar." She wasn't, and he knew it.

Absently fiddling with Wolverine's journal, Walt released a sigh. "Did you and Sean talk about Gorski?"

She noticed that he quite deliberately didn't mention the photos.

"Nope."

"Did Sean go out of town again?"

"Not that I know of."

Walt raised an eyebrow. "You still haven't been home?"

Vic shook her head in the negative.

"Don't you think avoiding Sean for this long will make him… suspicious?" The last word was a low murmur, the idea of suspicion an undeniable reminder that they had performed actions that most definitely warranted as much.

She wanted to say, _"_ _Funny how that wasn_ _'_ _t an issue when you more or less asked me to spend the night with you._ _"_ Instead, she shrugged. "It's not unusual for me to miss a night at home. I have pulled many 24 hour shifts in the past years."

He glared at her incredulously, and she couldn't help but add, "It's not like he actually cares, anyway."

That statement might have proved more effective if Ruby hadn't bustled into the office just then, not a post-it note in sight. Vic was almost sure the older woman could sense the tension in the air, as she looked back and forth between Vic and Walt with slight trepidation as they regarded her expectantly.

"Vic, did your phone battery die again? Sean couldn't reach you, so he called the station line. He says he's on his way over to pick you up."

The knot that was already present in Vic's stomach twisted ever so tight. "Oh, umm… okay, I guess. Thanks, Ruby."

Ruby departed, and Walt stared at her for a drawn out moment. Sometimes his eyes communicated way more than he shared with his minimalistic words, and here she could see so many things— disappointment, irritation, resignation, and longing were all present. Walt rose from his chair slowly, like some mountain of manliness shifting its tectonic plates. He walked over to the coat rack, retrieving his hat and shrugging into his coat.

Vic frowned. "Where are you going?"

For a moment he hesitated, perhaps trying to formulate an innocuous reply. In the end, he took the direct approach. "I don't want to be around when your husband gets here."

Sighing, Vic rolled her eyes and looked down at her hands where they were clasped on top of her jean-clad thigh. She wanted to interject, tell him that avoidance made him look just as guilty, maybe say something to remind him that it took two to tango, but he didn't give her a chance.

"The last thing he needs is to find you here with me."

With that Walt was gone, leaving nothing but a faint leather and wood scent impression. Alone in his office, Vic found herself wondering: _What about what_ _ **I**_ _need?_ That was one thing that none of the men in her life could apparently be bothered to give a good God damn about.

 **x**

 _Hmm, yet another somber and unresolved ending to a story in this series. As mentioned there will be at least one other in this arc, covering the events of 'Population 25.' Because I haven't already re-written all or part of that episode like 75 times or anything. *whistles innocently*_

 _Please do drop me your comments and let me know what you think! I know the angst/adultery aspects of this story are not everybody's cup of tea, but hopefully some of you are still finding it to be a good read. Let me know! ;D_


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